


Camp NaNo June 2018

by SerenityFalconNormandy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: All Souls' Day, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenityFalconNormandy/pseuds/SerenityFalconNormandy
Summary: Another collection of one-shots featuring my canon characters and pairings.Gwyneth Surana/King AlistairMarian Hawke/FenrisFen'lath Lavellan/SolasSentence Prompts used, and beta'd by the lovely IncreasingLight.Thank you to IncreasingLight for beta-ing for me!





	1. Day 1 - Siblings

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “It’s not that easy.”

All Souls Day was promising to be the worst it had ever been. Marian set up the remembrance table in the library by herself for the first time in her life. They had managed to bring so little with them from Lothering thanks to Leandra’s dithering and indecisiveness, but the little bits and bobs they had managed bring were priceless, and used only for this time of year now. She started by placing the scarf her mother had made on the table. The soft-spun yarn it was knit from had been their father’s gift to Leandra one year, when the twins were two if she recalled correctly. Marian had gone to Amaranthine with him to purchase it. She remembered the snooty Orlesian merchant and the cloud-like rabbit he’d had on a leash with him to demonstrate where the yarn came from. Leandra had hand-dyed it deep red with swirls of blue, and finished knitting it in time to wear to the Wintersend Chantry service.

 

They had taken it from Bethany’s neck before quickly stacking the stone cairn over her while fleeing Ferelden. The embroidered undershirt of Bethany’s that had made the journey in a satchel was folded up and placed next to the scarf, and a bangle of carved whitewood that had been her 16th nameday present, transported in a pocket.

 

Next, she laid out Malcolm’s wedding ring, which had been kept safe on a chain around her neck for many a year, and leaned his staff against the table. Oddly, their noble Amell grandparents had kept that stashed safely in a chest in their basement, perhaps their way of staying connected with the wayward daughter’s family somehow?

 

If Carver showed up as he was supposed to, Leandra’s wedding ring would join their father’s on the table. The worn leather cuffs and belt that their father had handed down to Carver when he’d gotten big enough to wear them himself had been polished and repaired as soon as they could afford it. They only ever emerged for All Souls Day now, whereas before they were part of the only armor they could afford for Carver to wear.

 

Finally, Leandra’s remembrances were laid out. The bottle of scent that had been from Kirkwall to Lothering and back, carefully unwrapped from the roll of fabric used to keep it from shattering, formerly hidden in the lining of a satchel. Supposedly the bottle itself had been her Great-Great Grandmother Walker’s, and made it down to her mother. Her hairbrush, with a few threads of steely gray hair still caught in the bristles, one of the few items Gamlen hadn’t gambled away before she had returned, and the first pair of gloves Leandra purchased with the newly restored Amell/Hawke fortune.

 

“Bodhan, has Orana unpacked the vases for me?” Marian called down to the entry hall. With the remembrances set out, vases were added with flowers to be refreshed every day as a reminder that life was delicate and temporary. “Bodhan, are you there?”

 

She left the library, and gasped when she spotted Carver at the top of the staircase, arms full of asphodels and willow. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m a Hawke too, you know. You’re not the only one who misses Father, Mother, and Bethany,” he snapped.

 

Marian jerked back as if Carver had slapped her. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “I brought flowers for the remembrance table, do you want them or not?”

 

“Of course I do. Just let me go and get the vases.”

 

A quick trip down to the kitchen saw the vases just finished drying, and Marian gathered them close. When she got back to the library, Carver had the perfume bottle in his hands, the stopper pulled out the smallest fraction. He took in a deep breath and said, “This always reminds me of Father’s birthday, and days Mother wanted to make it a special day for no reason.”

 

“It was the only time she’d wear it, just a tiny drop, because we couldn’t afford to get any imported by Father’s contacts in Amaranthine.”

 

“Remember when Bethy and I turned ten? All I wanted was a sword so I could practice with Father and spend time with him. All she wanted was to wear a drop herself for the day so she could be grown-up like Mother.” Carver pressed a large hand to his face, covering his eyes. His jaw clenched, and he breathed out a hard breath. Trembling fingers pushed the stopper back into the bottle. With great care, he set it back into place, and then traced his fingers over the soft scarf and the carved bangle. He took one of the asphodels, broke the stem, and set it among her remembrances. “I miss Bethy so much.”

 

“I miss her too.” Marian set the vases on the table and started arranging the other asphodels and willow.

 

“You have a funny way of showing it. I don’t think I’ve heard you breathe a word of her since we got to this damn city,” Carver sniped.

 

“What was I supposed to do, brother? Spend every night wailing into my pillow like Mother? We were going to starve if you and I didn’t drag ourselves out of bed at the crack of dawn for Athenril, and after that year we had to keep doing it to get the money for the damn expedition. Somehow I always end up leader of whatever pack of people we’re running around with, so I had to keep it together and act like it.”

 

“Yeah, that expedition. The one I busted my arse to help get the money for, and big brave sister left me behind. Again. Because it’s always got to be about her.”

 

“That’s not fair, Carver, and you know it!” She turned from the vases and strode up to him, realizing he was a full head taller than her now.

 

“Oh, so tell me how I’m supposed to see it, Marian!” He crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“You were there! Mother was weeping and wailing about losing her another one of her babies. She didn’t give a damn if I was lost on that bloody expedition, but if you had come along and gotten so much as a stubbed toe, she would have blistered me with her tongue! You say you want to stop living in my shadow? What makes you think I wanted to be put up on that pedestal in the first place? It was Mother the whole time, you know it was! Maker’s bloody balls, when I got back she blamed _me_ for you joining the Templars! Did you ever try to stop Mother from blaming you for something when she was dead-set on it? It’s not that easy.”

 

Carver’s jaw worked, and he ground out, “I just wanted to be someone besides the nuisance younger brother.”

 

“You are,” Marian’s voice cracked. “Carver, you’re the only family I’ve got left, the one Templar in the whole of the Gallows that the mages can trust. How many times did you send me patrol schedules before I became Champion to keep me out of there?  That _is_ being someone. What would I do without you?”

 

“Only family? What about Uncle Gamlen?”

 

“Oh, I make sure he survives, and his rent is paid, but he’s not family like you are. Want to know a secret?”

 

Carver raised a brow, “When don’t I?”

 

“I always wished Mother would stop telling you to act more like me. I’m a mess.”

 

He started laughing. “Did you ever say that to her?”

 

“Oh, constantly. Then she’d scold me and tell me I should know better because I needed to be an example for you,” Marian paused, wringing her fingers together. She hesitated for another moment, then spoke softly, “Speaking of which, take your time with Merrill,” He spluttered as she gave him a small, sad smile. “I think I ruined everything with Fenris.”

 

Carver’s arms dropped, and he frowned. “Did you, or is it him? He may be able to swing that sword around like a twig, but I bet I could still catch him and give him a proper thrashing like a Fereldan farm boy and defensive brother if you think it’ll help.”

 

“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe it was both of us. I just… Mother and I fought right before she died, and we never had a chance to make it right. What if I never get a chance to make it right with him?”

 

“You can’t know what the future holds, sister. I may not have the best opinion of him, but I saw how he looked at you during Mother’s funeral. He’ll come around eventually, I think. I still won’t say no to the chance to give him a thrashing.”

 

“It’s good to see that being around Knight-Commander Looney and Knight-Captain Uptight hasn’t changed you too terribly much, Carver.”

 

“I’m still a Hawke, Marian, no matter who I’m with or what I wear.”

 


	2. Day 2 - Fen'len

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Nothing is wrong with you.”
> 
> **Lots of headcanon-world-building in here, so please feel free to ask questions!

 

The children of the clan were with _Hahren_ Lareth, listening to the old tales. Yewvhan glanced over intermittently, attention split between Keeper Deshanna and the little girl sitting somewhat apart from the group of young elves clustered around the speaking elder. With her midnight hair caught in two fat little braids, she kept trying to scoot closer to another, slightly older girl whose dark hair was in one thick braid down her back.

 

When she got too close, Lareth would stop and spit at her to get back in her place. His little one did not need to know how Lareth had tried to get her abandoned to the pack of wolves that had been following the clan when she was born. It was no fault of hers that the same pack had been calling to the moon that night, and her first cries had caused them to stop.

  


“Yewvhan, _da’len_ , have you heard anything I’ve said? We leave for the _Arlathvhen_ in six weeks, we must have everything planned before then.” Deshanna clucked at him in frustration. Sharp eyes, so dark they appeared black, peered over his shoulder, following his gaze to the _hahren_ and child. “Ah, you’re worried about your little one.”

 

“Yes, Keeper. You see how _Hahren_ Lareth treats her. Fen’lath is an intelligent child, she will notice that others who are called _Harel’len_ aren’t snarled at and kept on the fringes of their clans. What will she do when we leave the _Arlathvhen_ and she has to leave the community of others marked by the Dread Wolf?”

 

Deshanna sighed. “You know as well as I, _da’len_ , Lareth has at most two or three winters left with us. Once Falon’Din has guided him to the Beyond, Fen’lath will easily fall into her proper place in the clan.”

 

“Are you sure, Keeper?”

 

Before the Keeper could speak, Lareth stormed over, dragging a weeping Fen’lath by the arm. “Keeper, _your First’s_ spawn will not stop interrupting our lessons with questions! She keeps bothering Mahari as well.”

 

Yewvhan snapped as she stood, “Mahari is her cousin, and the only playmate she has, thanks to you.”

 

“ _Tel’abelas_ , she is a creature of Fen’Harel and should have been left to the wolves when she was born!”

 

“Lareth! Yewvhan! If you must argue, you will not do it in front of Fen’lath! Come, _da’len_ ,” the Keeper guided the child away from the angry men, “Show me what you’ve learned from your _Papae_ about controlling fire.”

 

Deshanna smiled and encouraged the girl as she cupped her hands and produced a weak flame that blew out as soon as the early spring breeze puffed through the forest trees. Fen’lath stuck her tongue out in concentration, dark brows pinching together. Another flame sprouted, stronger, flickering in the breeze but staying lit. “Very good, Fen’lath, _mir da’len!_ ”

 

Fen’lath beamed at Deshanna, then her face fell as the breeze carried the sound of Yewvhan and Lareth shouting at each other to them. Tears formed in her wide, Fade-green eyes, and the Keeper spoke quickly, making her tone bright and cheerful, “Now, _da’len_ , what have you learned about lightning?”

 

Deshanna praised the girl as she was able to make crackles of electricity appear between widespread fingers. _Mythal, All-Mother, let the two of them work it out. Until your son Falon’Din takes Lareth, it seems there will be no peace in the clan, and neither of those stubborn donkeys make it easy to obtain in any case._

 

Lareth was angry that his grandson Shev would be leaving Lavellan at the _Arlathvhen_ . Shev was a good mage, and her Second, but deserved to be a First. By virtue of being _Harel’len_ , and a mage, tradition demanded Fen’lath become First, then Keeper in time. A Keeper protected the clan from Fen’Harel, and since he already had Fen’lath’s scent, she was in the best position to protect them, or so the legends said.

 

Deshanna wished for a moment that the child had not come into magic, as the hostility between the _Hahren_ and her First could have been smoothed over by agreeing that Fen would bond with Shev when she came of age. Thus, the _Harel’len_ would have been able to help the Keeper protect the clan, and the two men would stop snarling like angry hunting hounds every time they came close to each other.

* * *

Yewvhan brushed out Fen’lath’s hair, the single lamp lit in their aravel the only light as he prepared his daughter for sleep. She was humming to herself, a section from the Sulahn’Mythal. He started clicking his tongue in the rhythm of the part representing the angry Elgar’nan, and she turned her head to smile over her shoulder at him.

  
Clearing his throat and resuming clicking, he blinked back tears. He could see so much and yet so little of his beloved Tenala in her. The shape of her eyes, the way she smiled, and how she would tilt her head just so when pondering an important question, were her mother through and through. The Fade-green of her eyes, her nose, and freckles were his, as were her raven-black hair and deep caramel skin.

 

He wondered, if Tenala had not gone missing, would his little _Fen’len_ have a younger sibling by now? It had taken three years from their bonding for their daughter to arrive. In the four years since her disappearance when _Fen’len_ was three, it was possible they would have had another child. As it was, though Keeper gently chided him to find another woman to bond with, Yewvhan focused on his duties as First and his daughter.

 

He only noticed that Fen’lath had stopped humming when her small voice piped out, “ _Papae?_ ”

 

“Yes, _Fen’len?_ ” The brush stopped.

 

“Why is _Hahren_ so mean when I ask questions? Keeper told me I should ask questions.” Her voice cracked at the end, and Yewvhan felt his temper flare. He pulled Fen’lath into his lap, hugging her close and murmuring into her hair.

 

“Nothing is wrong with asking questions, _da’len_ . The _hahren_ is an ill-tempered, mean-spirited old man. There is something he is upset about, and he is taking it out on you. He has been for years.”

 

If the _hahren_ were not so well-connected, with children and grandchildren bonded to many of high status throughout the clans, Yewvhan’s assertion that his daughter was touched by the All-Mother, not the Dread Wolf, would have been the tale told. Being a _Harel’len_ was not a curse in the wider view of the clans, in fact it was considered an honored position, but it was a hard one. To be the first known _Mythal’len_ … But there was no room for ‘what ifs’.

 

A _Harel’len’s_ life was never truly their own, it was always lived in service to their clan. One who was a mage would always become Keeper, whether they wanted the responsibility or not. Non-mage _Harel’len_ always ended up bonded to a Keeper, First, or Second, and they were not to bond with another of their kind except in extraordinary circumstances. One of the comforts Yewvhan found was that Deshanna would never allow a bonding that Fen’lath truly objected to, though she would have little say in many other areas of her life.

 

“When we get to the _Arlathvhen_ , we’ll find other children like you. You know why you’re special, right?”

 

“Because I’m a mage?” She looked up at him from his lap, eyes wide with curiosity.

 

“That is one reason, _Fen’len_ . _Harel’len_ are rare, but you were one from birth, which makes you extra special. Being one of the Dread Children also means you can trick the Trickster himself.”

 

“I can?”

 

“Yes, you can! The Dread Wolf knows your scent already. He is not interested in pursuing scents he already knows from before a person takes their marks as one of the People. If one of the adults who already has their _vallaslin_ is scented by Him, Keepers know a rite that will make the other person smell like you.”

 

“So he’ll get bored and do something else, because he knows my scent!”

 

“Correct!” Yewvhan drew her close, hugging her and turning it into play-wrestling. “How did my little _Fen’len_ get so smart, hmm? You are a gift to the People, never forget that.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, thanks to some horrible writer's block and a string of awful migraines, this was all that I got done for this Camp NaNo.
> 
> August will be better!


End file.
